Angel Unawares
by CianLlyr
Summary: Not long after "the dinner date"-Delenn and Sheridan, the holiday season, and the next few steps toward falling in love.
1. Chapter 1

**Author****'****s****Note:**This story takes place in Season 2, sometime after "A Race Through Dark Places". Fluff for the holiday season—enjoy, and please leave a review if you feel so inclined.

December 14, 2259

_The__ Zocalo__ is__ busy__ today_, Delenn thought as she reached it and joined the crowd. She had spent most of the day wrestling with technicalities in the latest non-aggression treaty between the Duk'hai and the Mrik, two of the more quarrelsome nonaligned races. As a reward for exercising the discipline of patience, she had promised herself a stroll through Babylon Five's principal bazaar, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

There was music in the air, faint at first but growing louder as she went deeper into the Zocalo. Something choral, delicate and lovely. Though unfamiliar, the harmonies were pleasing—and the voices, though less resonant than those of Minbari, were fine nonetheless. To her delight, she found she could hum along with the melodies after only a verse or two. Humans had a positive genius for creating simple, memorable tunes. Perhaps she would play some of them for Lennier after they dined that evening. She was sure he would enjoy them.

She walked slowly through the bazaar, taking in everything around her. She had always loved watching people, ever since her first trip into Tuzanor with her parents as a small child. Babylon Five, with its bewildering array of races crammed together cheek-by-jowl, was a feast of the new and different. She saw two Pak'mara at a café table, clicking comfortably at each other over bowls of something dark green and thick and hideous-smelling. The Pak'mara were clearly savoring it. Across the corridor, a Drazi stopped to peer in the window of a rock shop, his attention apparently caught by a fine specimen of Martian amethyst. Its purple glow was intense enough for Delenn to see from several paces away. Without taking his eyes from the stone, the Drazi slid one hand into his pocket as if to count the contents.

She walked a little further, gazing at the abundant decorations that adorned every shop. Many of them were red and green, though she saw quite a lot of blue and silver as well. The two pairs of colors rarely mingled; when they did, it was almost always in shops that sold little folded cards with drawings on them and long bolts of bright-colored paper. Delenn wondered what those were for.

At the fruit-seller's where she usually stopped, she saw a Narn woman with two small Narns in tow. All three were stuffing oranges from a bin into a large paper bag. She slowed, briefly tempted by the scent of the fruit, but changed her mind and walked on. She had no wish to buy today-only to look and listen. Since losing her place on the Grey Council, she had not been out in public much. Until today she hadn't had the heart to risk shocked stares and contemptuous looks from strangers. Now, as she stopped for a moment in a small, clear space amid the eddying throng of the Zocalo, she could laugh at her own timidity. No one had given her so much as a second look, let alone a disapproving one. Among a hundred or more exotically different races, she hardly stood out at all. She had missed these excursions; she resolved to miss them no longer.

"Are you a princess?" someone said from below. Delenn looked down and saw a small human girl gazing up at her, blue eyes bright with interest. The child's golden hair was caught back from her face by two rose-shaped pink clips.

"I don't know," Delenn answered, smiling. "What is a princess?"

"You look like a princess. You have a crown on your head. Princesses always wear crowns. And they have a king for a daddy and a queen for a mommy."

"I see." Delenn knelt down to the child's level. "But this is not a crown," she continued, touching her bonecrest. "It is part of me. So I think I am not a princess."

"Can I touch it?" the little girl asked. At Delenn's nod, she stretched one small hand toward Delenn's head.

Someone grabbed the hand and yanked the little girl backward. "Mary Rose, get away from her! Right now!"

Startled, Delenn looked up. She saw a woman, elegantly dressed, with golden hair like the child's and an irate expression on her face. Delenn stood and gave her a friendly smile. "It is all right. She was only—"

The woman backed away, dragging the child with her. "Stay away from her, you alien freak!" With a final look of loathing, she turned and stalked off, the little girl still in tow.

"But Mommy, she was _nice_," Delenn heard the child saying as the pair of them vanished into the crowd.

She stared blankly after them. Gradually she became aware of the silence around her, the averted eyes of the people nearby. Her face grew hot, and for a moment she felt an overpowering desire to run. Instead, she strode blindly toward the nearest shop, where garlands and dried flowers and hanging ornaments of various kinds were on display. An elaborate wreath of reddish-orange strips caught her eye. She belatedly recognized them as chili peppers, a fruit native to Earth. She focused her attention on the wreath, fighting for control. She would contemplate this harmless decoration until the burning in her cheeks and eyes went away. She would betray nothing where so many strangers could see.

**ooOoo**

John Sheridan was ambling through the Zocalo, taking in the cheerful holiday frenzy, when a flash of rose-colored silk caught his eye. He turned toward it and saw Ambassador Delenn strolling through the crowd, looking at everything with the wide-eyed delight of a five-year-old in a toy store. He hadn't seen her around much lately, apart from the occasional council meeting; somewhat to his surprise, he'd missed her. He should be sociable, he decided. Go over and say hello, wish her the compliments of the season. He started working his way toward her through the throng.

She'd stopped in a momentary clear space near the center of the Zocalo and was rubbernecking like any tourist fresh off a passenger liner. She hadn't seen him yet. Sheridan slowed, suddenly feeling awkward. A fine fool he'd look, bounding up to her like some overly friendly dog expecting to be patted on the head. She might not even want company. Maybe he should be a little more subtle, act less like a bumptious schoolboy.

As he hesitated, a small child walked up and spoke to her. Sheridan saw her smile and kneel down to answer. Then he saw the girl's mother approach and snatch the child away, spitting some epithet he couldn't hear at Delenn. Everyone in the vicinity suddenly became absorbed in the merchandise or their packages or their shoes. Delenn stood still a moment, a lost look on her face. Then she fled toward the nearest shop stall.

The look decided him. As quickly as he could manage through the press of people, he headed toward her.

**OoOoo**

_Such__ an__ unusual__ texture_, Delenn thought as she stared at the chili pepper wreath. She refused to let her mind dwell on anything else. _Almost__ like __the__ grain__ of__ wood.__ And__ so__ many __subtle __shadings__—__deep __red,__ pale__ orange__ like__ the__ heart __of__ a__ flame__—_

"Contemplating a wreath for your door?" The voice, blessedly warm and friendly, belonged to Captain Sheridan.

Delenn turned toward him, a shade too quickly for decorum. "What is the significance of such a decoration, Captain? I confess I am curious. I have not seen this kind of decoration before." She knew she was talking too fast and too much, but perhaps he wouldn't notice.

His smile deepened. Delenn had rarely felt so grateful to see friendly regard on anyone's face. "It's a custom of Christmas," he said. "An Earth holiday that commemorates the birth of a holy man named Jesus. Followers of the Christian faith believe Jesus Christ was God incarnate; his birthday is one of the holiest days in the Christian calendar." He nodded toward the pepper wreath. "People decorate their houses at Christmastime with wreaths, and Christmas trees, and_—_"

"Christmas trees?"

He looked around the shop, then nodded toward its far side. "There. There's a Christmas tree." Gesturing for her to precede him, he walked over to a dark green plant in a metal pot. It had a broad base, tapering toward its top. It reached barely as high as his shoulder. Its leaves were almost obscured by ribbons and lights and ornaments of every conceivable shape and color.

Up close, Delenn saw that the leaves were needle-thin, clustered along the tree's branches like some strange kind of fur. The tree gave off a sharp, clean scent that made her think of bright winter mornings on Minbar. From every branch hung a bewildering variety of decorations: balls of colored glass, animals and birds of painted wood, gold and silver stars, human-like figures with wings, and so many others that she soon lost count.

She looked at the ornament nearest her_—_a winged lady, wrought in delicate silver filigree. "That's an angel," Sheridan said. "One of many popular Christmas symbols. They're_—_" He chuckled, a warm, easy sound. "Well, they're not gods, exactly... but they are supposed to be divine. Sort of. As with everything else about humans, it gets a little complicated." He grinned at her as if he was enjoying her company. As if nothing could be more natural than chatting with her about Earth holiday customs. _As__ if __I__ am __a __person,__ not__ an __alien__ freak_.

She shied away from that thought. To distract herself, she looked closely at the angel. Around the figure's rim, the silver had been worked into an English phrase. "Peace on Earth, good will to men," Delenn slowly read aloud.

"The spirit of Christmas." Sheridan sounded oddly subdued. "Allegedly, anyway."

She looked at him and was surprised to see concern in his eyes. He drew breath as if to speak, glanced at the ornament, then looked back at her. "I, um_—_I saw what happened earlier. I wasn't sure if I should say anything_—_if it would help, I mean_—_" He paused, clearly embarrassed. "I'd like to apologize on behalf of my species. Most of us aren't like that, really..."

His concern touched her. "It is no matter," she began, then stopped. She gazed at the tree, as if it could help her put her thoughts into words. "Many people fear what is different from themselves... and I have become very different from everyone." She traced the edge of the angel with one finger, then gave Sheridan a small smile. "I must expect such incidents and learn to deal with them_—_until people become accustomed to me. They will cease to notice soon enough." _I __hope_, she thought, but didn't say it.

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but apparently thought better of it. "Wait here a minute, will you?" he asked instead, and stepped away. She watched him for a moment, then looked back at the tree. A strange custom, dressing up a tree in finery_—_but it was beautiful to look at. A Minbari artist might be proud of creating such a thing. Though perhaps with a bit less clutter to it…

She heard his footsteps behind her and turned to face him. He was smiling again, but not so easily as before. He looked... shy, she realized with amazement. His expression hovered between unsure and hopeful. "I thought you might like this," he said as he handed her a small parcel wrapped in red tissue paper. "A gift of the season."

She took the parcel and opened it. Inside lay a silver-filigree angel, just like the one she'd been admiring. She held it up and watched in delight as the ceiling lights sparkled off the delicate metal. "So beautiful," she said softly. Then her face fell. "But I have no gift for you."

"You like it_—_that's gift enough."

She had not expected such an answer. An odd, fluttery feeling made her blush. She couldn't help smiling even as she glanced away.

He cleared his throat. "If you're not busy for the next little while… would you care to join me in a cup of hot chocolate?"

She looked back at him, her smile deepening as she bowed her head. "I would be honored, Captain."

**ooOoo**

Two days later, Delenn walked out of her quarters and nearly stepped on a largish rectangle of heavy, bright red paper. She picked it up and saw her name written across it, in the English alphabet. It was an envelope, with something tucked inside_—_one of the thick, folded papers with drawings on them that humans enjoyed giving one another. This must be another holiday custom, the giving of these small sketches.

This one was of a Christmas tree with a star perched on its top. It had far fewer ornaments than the tree Sheridan had shown her in the shop the other day_—_nothing but a few garlands of beads and some striped sticks with curled-over ends. Most of the "decorations" on this tree were animals: birds and small, furry brown creatures with big eyes and tiny paws drawn up under pointed faces. They reminded her of gokks. All of them wore long, red pointed hats with white fringe on the bottom and white balls on the ends. The whimsy of it made her laugh. She unfolded the paper and saw a message inside.

"The honor of your presence is requested"_—_she smiled at that_—_"to celebrate Christmas and…" The next word was unfamiliar. _Hanukkah_. Another holiday?

The sound of footsteps made her look up. Lennier was coming toward her, holding an envelope similar to hers. "I found this by my door," he said as he reached her. Curiosity sparked in his face as he spied the card in her hand. "I see you have one as well. What are they?"

"Invitations to a holiday celebration," she said. "Or perhaps two."

"Ah." Eagerly, Lennier opened his envelope. Delenn watched him with affection. The very idea of human holiday festivities attracted him; he could hardly wait to find out when and where they were to be held.

She resumed reading her own invitation, making a mental note to look up the word _Hanukkah_ when she got a chance. With a little glow of warmth, she realized that the celebration was to be given by Captain Sheridan.

"We are invited to cut a tree?" Lennier sounded puzzled. "Look, it says 'tree trimming.' To trim something is to cut it, yes?"

Delenn frowned. Lennier was correct, and yet that didn't sound quite right. "I think this is something else," she said, remembering. "They make artworks out of trees for their Christmas"decorate them with all kinds of things. Captain Sheridan showed me one the other day. It was lovely."

"We will go, of course?"

"Of course." It surprised her, how pleased she felt at the prospect of seeing John Sheridan again... outside of their official contacts, at a festive occasion. She would have to find something to wear. Somehow she had a feeling that a long black dress was not quite the color for a Christmas-and-Hanukkah party.

"Shall I call the captain and tell him we are pleased to accept his invitation?" Lennier asked.

She started to say yes, then stopped. "I have a better idea."

**ooOoo**

December 18, 2259

_What__ a__ day_, Sheridan thought as he slogged toward his quarters. If he never saw another Mrik dignitary in his life, it would be too soon. The Duk'hai ambassador had been pompous enough, but her Mrik counterpart... Sheridan shook his head. Ambassador Th'rik made Londo Mollari look humble. Even Delenn, who could be gracious to a swamp toad if necessary, had come visibly close to losing patience by the end of the session. _Of __course,__ she's__ been __dealing__ with__ them__ in__ private __for__ weeks. __Lord_—_I'd__ hate __to __think __that__ what__ we __saw __today __was__ their _best_ behavior. __I'd__ be__ about__ ready __to__ strangle __them__ both_.

He was a little concerned that neither Lennier nor Delenn herself had yet responded to his invitation. Lennier, the perfect aide, was usually prompt about things like that. Maybe coping with the Duk'hai and the Mrik had driven it from both their minds. The two quarreling envoys would have driven _him_ to drink—but Minbari had trouble with alcohol, or so he'd heard. He made a mental note not to spike the eggnog, in case Delenn wanted to taste it. For those who wanted extra cheer, a bottle of decent brandy on the side would do.

He reached his door with relief. As he punched in his personal lock code, he spotted a bright green envelope with his name on it leaning against the doorjamb.

He picked it up as the door wheezed open and he stepped inside. _Captain__ John__ Sheridan_ had been printed across the envelope, in an elegant hand he didn't recognize. He opened it, wondering who'd sent him a Christmas card.

The card looked like a Japanese print, though it wasn't one he'd ever seen before. He felt sure he would remember it if he had. It was a winter landscape at twilight—a gently sloping hillside, a few delicately drawn trees, a wide sky with a scattering of stars. The shading of the sky was exquisite; the artist had covered it with every shade between pale grey and midnight blue, so subtly that the eye couldn't distinguish where one color ended and the next began. He noted the signature block in the corner—two characters surrounded by a rectangle, characteristic of Japanese prints. Only these characters didn't look Japanese. He peered more closely at the tiny pen-strokes and realized they were Minbari.

It had to be from Delenn—but where could she have found a Minbari-themed Christmas card? He doubted greeting cards were a Minbari custom. He examined it more closely and saw the card was hand-drawn, not printed. _She __made __this_, he realized slowly. _She __drew__ it __herself.__This __beautiful__ thing_. He shook his head, bemused and delighted. _The__ things__ we__ don't__ know__ about__ the __people __we __see__ every __day..._

He opened the card and was unreasonably pleased to read a graciously phrased acceptance of his invitation. Of course she would come, he told himself; it was the polite thing to do, and Ambassador Delenn was unfailingly polite. _Almost__ unfailingly_, he thought with a grin, remembering the edge her usually soft voice had acquired when she'd told the Mrik envoy to sit down for the tenth time. The unspoken part of that order had clearly been the Minbari equivalent of _or__ I'll__ kick __your__ teeth __in._ Th'rik had heard it, too—he'd gotten quiet and biddable awfully fast.

Definitely no spiked eggnog. Now if he could only be sure the tree would arrive sometime within the next three days, he could go to sleep without a care in the world.

**ooOoo**

December 21, 2259

For what felt like the millionth time, Delenn studied her reflection. She had curled her hair, which she'd chosen to wear loose; she liked the look of it rippling over her shoulders. She still wasn't sure about the square-cut neckline of her dress, but the woman at the shop had raved so about it that it would have been ungracious to demur. And the dress was flattering, she had to admit. It was fitted to the waist, from which the skirt dropped to her mid-calf in a graceful sweep of dark green velvet—the exact shade, now she thought about it, of the fur-like leaves on the Christmas tree.

She hoped Captain Sheridan would like it. The question of why it mattered briefly crossed her mind, but she refused to dwell on it.

The door chimed softly, then opened to admit Lennier. He was resplendent in his best tunic and tabard of silver and blue. His eyes widened at the sight of her—whether in surprise or admiration, she couldn't tell.

She caught his eye in the mirror. "How do I look?"

"Perfectly acceptable," he replied. "If you are ready, we should go—it would not do to be late."

"No." She turned away from the mirror, taking a deep breath to calm her sudden surge of nerves. The feeling surprised her. What had she to be nervous about? She was going to a festive occasion among friends, not a troublesome treaty negotiation or a fractious council meeting. All anyone would expect of her for the next few hours was courtesy and enjoyment. As abruptly as it had come, her nervousness fled. In its wake came a breathless excitement she hadn't felt since a classmate in temple had dared her to climb all the way up to the top of the sanctuary roof. Her feelings were running away with her, and all over a simple party. It was ridiculous. She must get hold of herself.

With a respectful nod, Lennier gestured for her to precede him into the corridor. Prompted by a sudden impulse, she stopped to pick up the silver angel, then walked out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

December 21, 2259

They met Ivanova in the hall near Sheridan's quarters, coming toward them from the opposite direction. She was wearing a dress, Delenn noted with surprise—a lovely, jewel-like shade of blue that shimmered when she moved. She carried an elaborate silver candelabra in one hand and a small, flat box in the other.

"A menorah," she said, in response to their curious looks. "Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights, so we light candles to celebrate it. There's a story that goes with it." She shifted the menorah so she could hold it and the box in the same hand, then pressed the door chime. "There's always a story."

A few seconds later, a smiling Sheridan ushered them inside. Delenn looked around, amazed and delighted. The walls were adorned with garlands. Some were Christmas-tree branches; others bore glossy, dark green leaves and clusters of bright red berries. The tree branches filled the air with a fresh, clean scent. The Christmas tree itself, as yet unadorned, stood near the center of the room. It was taller than the one in the shop; as tall as she was, in fact. Delenn blessed the impulse that had made her pick up the angel. She would hang it on Sheridan's Christmas tree and do honor to his gift.

"Merry Christmas, Ambassador," Sheridan said, with a Minbari-like bow.

Smiling, she returned the gesture and the greeting. "Merry Christmas, Captain. And what does 'merry' mean, exactly? I have not heard this word before."

"Happy," he answered. "Mirthful. Full of laughter and joy."

From the look on his face, he was certainly feeling merry. A small voice in the back of her brain suggested it might just be because she was here. She felt a blush rising and silently ordered herself to stop being foolish. _He__ would__ be __happy __to__ see __any__ guest. __He __is__ being __a__ proper __host_—_there__ is__ no__ more __in __it __than __good__ manners__ and __friendship_.

His fingers brushed hers as he raised the hand in which she held the ornament. "You brought the angel! I was hoping you would. I—" The door chime interrupted him. He excused himself, looking regretful, and went to answer it.

"Eggnog, Ambassador?" Garibaldi was standing by a table loaded down with foodstuffs: plates of small flat cakes in decorative shapes and bright colors, fat round pastries dusted with sugar, an orange-yellow ball of soft cheese surrounded by still more flat cakes (these a rich golden brown) and bowls of oranges and dark blue grapes. A larger, cut-glass bowl sat at one end of the table, surrounded by cups. Garibaldi held one out to her, brimming with something cream-colored and frothy.

She took the cup and thanked him, hoping this "eggnog" wouldn't be as strange as the last Earth delicacy he had introduced her to. She had tried to describe popcorn to Lennier, but had soon given up; there was nothing remotely like it on Minbar to serve as a comparison. She'd eventually decided she liked it, strange as it was—though it had made her terribly thirsty. At least the eggnog looked unlikely to do that.

The liquid was pale yellow, with small brown specks floating across its foamy top. She resisted the impulse to sniff it before drinking; that would be rude, and she had no wish to offend Mr. Garibaldi. He was grinning at her, no doubt remembering the popcorn. She grinned back, raised the cup and took a cautious sip. The stuff was extremely sweet; it slid down her throat like velvet. Delenn took a second sip and decided she liked it... in small doses.

Lennier had come up beside her and was studying one of the colored flat cakes with interest. Covered in bright red sugar, it was vaguely human in shape, but with a hunched back and a pointed head. "Does this figure represent someone in particular?" Lennier asked. "Some Christmas deity, perhaps?"

"I suppose you could call him that," Sheridan said from behind them. "That's Santa Claus."

"He slides down chimneys and gives presents to good little kids," Garibaldi added. "And leaves coal in your stocking if you've made a lot of trouble."

"You're speaking from experience, of course," Dr. Franklin said, deadpan, as he strolled to the table and picked up an orange.

"Oh, definitely." Garibaldi snatched up the Santa Claus figure and bit into it with relish.

"Coal?" Delenn asked.

Sheridan slid a Christmas tree-shaped cake from the plate. "Fossil fuel. Small black chunks of long-dead compressed swamp foliage. People used it centuries ago to heat their houses."

Delenn sipped her eggnog with a thoughtful frown. "So those who are troublesome receive as a gift something to keep them warm? That seems a strange form of discipline. Or do humans generally reward troublemakers with something of use?"

"Depends on what kind of trouble you make, I guess." The sparkle in Sheridan's eyes was infectious; Delenn couldn't help smiling back. "Or maybe old Saint Nick was just a soft touch."

"Who?"

"Another name for Santa Claus. Actually, Santa Claus is an amalgam of Saint Nicholas, also known as Sinter Klaas, a Catholic bishop who used to go around on Christmas Eve leaving gifts of food and firewood for the poor, and Father Christmas, who gives toys to well-behaved children..." Sheridan trailed off. "I'm confusing you, aren't I?"

_You__ confuse__ me __frequently,__ but __I __like __it_, she felt like saying. Instead, she shook her head with a little laugh. "Your Christmas is more complicated than I imagined."

"That's the beauty of Hanukkah," Ivanova said, joining the group around the table. "Simplicity. One eight-day miracle of light. No fat, white-bearded guys popping improbably down chimneys, no elves and reindeer, no angels and Wise Men. Just light." She glared at the refreshments in mock indignation. "What, no latkes?"

"Have a doughnut." Garibaldi handed Ivanova one of the sugar-covered pastries. She bit into it, and a blob of red sticky stuff squirted out the other end. She caught the blob with her little finger before it could fall on her dress, then licked her finger clean. "Lesson one of eating jelly doughnuts," she said to Lennier, who was watching her with interest. "Keep your hand under the doughnut at all times. That way, everything drips into your hand instead of on your clothes."

"I will keep that in mind," Lennier said. With solemn deliberation, he took a jelly doughnut, positioned it carefully in his palm, and nibbled at one end. He made an appreciative noise at the taste, swallowed the morsel, and turned to Delenn. "You might wish to try one. They are very good."

It took effort not to laugh, but Delenn managed it. Lennier's upper lip was dusted with powdered sugar, and a jelly-covered crumb stuck to one corner of his mouth. "Perhaps when I have finished my eggnog." She turned to Ivanova. "This miracle of light—what is it? You said there was a story..."

She listened, fascinated, as Ivanova told the story of Hanukkah. "…And that one day's supply of oil lasted for eight days, so the Maccabees could keep the Eternal Flame lit according to God's commandment." Ivanova picked up a napkin and wiped the sugar from her hands, then headed toward the small table on which she had placed the menorah. "So every year at Hanukkah, Jews commemorate that miracle by lighting candles—one for each of the eight days."

She opened the narrow box that lay near the menorah's base and shook out two slender, white candles. Garibaldi drained his eggnog; Franklin set his half-peeled orange on a napkin. In the sudden silence, Ivanova placed a candle in a holder at one end of the menorah. The second candle went in the centermost holder, which was slightly taller than the rest. Then she picked up the box of matches and extracted one. Before striking it, she looked over at Sheridan with a lopsided grin. "You going to sing with me?"

"If I can remember the words. Just keep it low, will you? A tenor I'm not."

"Aye, sir." She saluted him with the match, struck it, and lit the central candle. As the wick caught, she and Sheridan began to sing softly together. "_Baruch __atah__ Adonai/ Eloheinu __melech __ha'olam..._"

Delenn listened and watched, enchanted, as Ivanova lit the first candle with the second and then replaced the second taper in the centermost holder. She hadn't known either of them could sing, let alone so well. Sheridan had a beautiful voice; listening to him was like wrapping herself in a soft fur cloak, warming and soothing. She would have liked to join in, but she couldn't even guess at the strange words. Not English—some other of Earth's plethora of tongues, an intriguing blend of throaty and liquid sounds that vaguely reminded her of ancient forms of Adronado.

The brief song ended, too soon for Delenn. Sheridan turned to her with a smile. "They'll keep burning until they burn down. You're not supposed to extinguish Hanukkah candles; they're like little Eternal Flames or something."

"_An'shallan_," she murmured, gazing at the tiny fires. "The light at the heart of the Universe, that never goes out. In every home and temple on Minbar, _an'shallan_ burns always—in commemoration, like these Hanukkah candles." She looked up at him. "It seems once again we are more alike than we knew."

"Seems that way." The look he was giving her brought back the fluttery feeling she'd had in the Zocalo. Was it only days before? She wanted to keep looking at him, to revel in this feeling... yet, at the same time, it bewildered her. She didn't know what to make of it or what to do with it.

He looked abruptly away from her. Had he sensed her confusion? Perhaps he shared it. He walked off suddenly, back toward the refreshment table, and for a moment she wondered if she had somehow offended him. Then she saw him pick up her angel from the corner where she'd left it, and felt relieved.

He held it out to her as he returned. "Would you care to hang the first ornament on the tree, Ambassador?"

She thanked him with a shy smile and reached for the angel, letting her hand linger in his. He clasped her fingers gently and led her over to the Christmas tree.

"There is a certain technique to this," he said, still holding her hand. She had a dim sense that she should pull away, that she was enjoying this simple contact far too much. But how to do such a thing gracefully? It was impossible. She would only embarrass them both, an inexcusable thing to do to one's host. Well then, she would do as politeness required... and if she also happened to like it, was that such a terrible thing? It was a festive occasion, after all.

"This loop here," he was saying, placing the silver string tied to the angel's head in her fingers as he spoke, "needs to go over the branch. Be careful, or you'll stick yourself with the pine needles." Dutifully, Delenn eyeballed the branch and held the string open to what looked like the right width. "That's kind of a heavy ornament, so you don't want to hang it from the very tip; it'll bend the branch down and probably fall off. Ease it an inch or two in toward the trunk—like this." He guided her hand into the greenery—which felt nowhere near as fur-like as it looked, she discovered. Sheridan had called the leaves "needles" for good reason. She suppressed the "Ouch" that rose to her lips, slipped the string over the branch and let the angel go. It swung back and forth, bright against the dark green, catching the light of the Hanukkah candles and sending glimmers through the room.

"Perfect." Sheridan gazed at it, looking amazingly happy over such a little thing. _Perhaps __I__ am __not __the __only __one__ having__ far __too__ good__ a__ time __this__ evening_. Delenn felt her cheeks warming at that thought. Amazing, how often she did that these days.

Someone coughed gently behind them. "Ummm..." Garibaldi said. "Shouldn't we hang the lights first?"

"Oh. Uh..." Now it was Sheridan's turn to blush. He let go of Delenn's hand and smoothed his hair back. "Yeah, I guess we should've. They're in the top box."

"There is a ritual to this," Lennier murmured approvingly in Delenn's ear as they watched Sheridan and Garibaldi wrap the tree from top to bottom in greenish wires covered with tiny light bulbs. "You were right—they are much more like us than we had suspected."

Delenn nodded toward the angel. "I hope I have not done wrong. How much do you suppose it matters that lights be hung before the other decorations?"

Lennier frowned. "It cannot matter too much, or the captain would not have suggested it. He has great regard for you; he would not lead you into error."

"No." She looked over at Sheridan, as much to hide her sudden, unreasonable delight from Lennier as to watch the proceedings. _He __has__ great__ regard__ for__ you_. So much meaning in such an off-hand remark. "No, that is true. He would not."

Sheridan had moved behind the tree, hidden from her view. Suddenly, dozens of tiny lights blazed out from the branches, bright against the dark pine needles like many-colored stars against the night sky. Red, blue, green, gold... they were lovely beyond words. They gave Delenn the same feeling as the rainbow patterns that played across the crystal ceiling of the temple back home—that if she only gazed at them long enough, their sheer beauty would bring her to the deepest secrets of the Universe.

A soft thread of music wove into the air, so perfectly in keeping with the lights' enchantment that it briefly seemed to Delenn as if the lights were singing. After a few moments, she recognized one of the choral anthems she'd heard in the Zocalo. _Of __course_—_there__ would__ have __to__ be__ Christmas__ music. __One__ cannot__ have __a__ festival __without__ music_. As Lennier moved to join the others around the boxes near the tree, Delenn stood still and listened. There had been a harmony line to this tune when she'd heard it before; she could almost remember it. If she listened just a little longer, it would come to her.

**ooOoo**

Sheridan walked out from behind the tree and stopped short at the sight of Delenn. She was standing apart from the bustle around the ornament boxes, watching everything with the joyful wonder of a child. He followed her gaze and saw Lennier, solemnly threading a wire hook through the top of a huge golden ball while Franklin looked on; Susan, holding a tiny wooden harp and scanning the greenery for the perfect spot to hang it; Garibaldi, rooting through the boxes for a particular ornament known only to him. The affection so clear in her face surprised Sheridan even as it touched him. He hadn't realized how much they all apparently meant to her. He wondered if she was lonely. Apart from the ever-faithful Lennier, her own people on the station appeared to have little to do with her; and if the reaction of the woman in the Zocalo was any indication, looking more human hadn't helped Delenn much with members of his own race.

If she was lonely, she bore it well. She rarely seemed weighed down by private troubles, and gave generously of her time and attention to just about anyone who asked. He could only remember her talking about her own feelings of isolation once—during a painful conversation in the Zen garden, when the elders of Lennier's clan had tried to frame him for murder. It had not occurred to him until then, hearing the sadness in her voice, to wonder just how much her transformation had cost her. Since then, he'd thought about it frequently. About her.

The incident in the Zocalo came sharply to mind. She had shown no anger toward the woman who'd insulted her, no resentment or blame. She'd understood the fear behind the bigotry and felt sorry for the woman afflicted by it. Delenn impressed him, in more ways than one. More than impressed him, if he was honest with himself. It was an unexpected feeling... and oddly welcome.

She made a lovely picture, in her dark green dress with the gold stitching at wrists and throat. The gown, the flowing dark hair, the slim bone ridge that crowned the top of her head like a tiara... she reminded him of a fairy-tale princess. Or an angel, lacking only wings. As he saw the light in her eyes once more, he felt himself smiling. _An__ angel,__ definitely.__ A __Minbari__ angel... __if__ there __is __such __a __thing_.

She was humming along with the carol, in perfect harmony—a delicate, resonant sound in spite of its low volume. Where she'd learned the alto line to _Silent__ Night_, he couldn't guess. He listened, not moving for fear of disturbing her.

As the carol ended, she turned toward him with a share-the-wonder look that hit him like a bolt of sunshine. Without conscious thought, he moved toward her. He wanted to take her hands and lose himself for a long time in those shining grey-green eyes. He only just managed to restrain himself; heaven knew how she'd react to such a move. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Where did you learn _Silent __Night_, Ambassador?"

She looked puzzled; he explained. "That's the name of the song. The Christmas carol. _Silent__ Night_." He sounded like a babbling idiot, and hoped she wouldn't notice.

"It was playing in the Zocalo the day you met me there." She looked over at the tree, then shyly back at him. "When you bought me the angel."

He hadn't intended to ask, but it came out anyhow. "What were you thinking just now?"

"Of how good it is to have friends. Few gifts are more precious than friendship, Captain." She paused and then added, "Thank you for yours."

He blushed to the tips of his ears. Suddenly he couldn't think of a thing to say. He hadn't felt this much like a tongue-tied adolescent in years.

Delenn seemed to sense his confusion; she looked troubled. "I have said something wrong?"

Impulsively, he took her hand. "No. Not at all. I—" He squeezed her fingers with a short laugh. "I've never known anyone quite like you, Delenn. I'm honored to be your friend."

The smile she gave him lit up her face. All of a sudden nothing mattered in the world except that smile and the warmth in her eyes.

"So are you planning on helping decorate your own tree, or what?" Franklin called from across the room.

"What?" Sheridan blinked, startled out of dreamland. Delenn looked away, a faint flush on her cheeks. "Oh, sure. Ummm..." He caught Delenn's eye. "I guess we'd better—"

"Yes," she said. "I suppose we had."

They looked at each other for a last, long moment—then went to join the others, hand in hand.


End file.
